


An Excess of Fluff Feels

by anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Dancing, Dogs, Established Relationship, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, Sharing Clothes, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/anexcessoffeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Raúl-based multi-fandom fluff fics of various lengths because that's how I roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fredsquared, umbrella-sharing

**Author's Note:**

> From this [list](http://anexcessoffeels.tumblr.com/post/121612378883/fluff-prompts-meme) of prompts. Will be updated as I work my way through received prompts, and tags will be updated accordingly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you really think I'm inclined to drop everything and come get you? I'm not your _chauffeur_ , Miss Lounds." | It's raining and Freddie needs a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for notmyyacht's prompt of "Chilton, 27 [umbrella-sharing] (who he shares with is up to you)." I opted for some Fredsquared because why not? I've never written any before. :D

spookyfbiguy69 was not going to show up. Freddie should've known better than to trust anyone with such a ridiculous screenname, but the lure of leaked FBI documents had been too much for her to resist. Between the promise of a hot lead and the ongoing Hannibal manhunt, she'd had a lot on her mind. Too much to bother keeping track of whether she had gas in the tank, or whether it was going to rain, or if she was on another wild goose chase. She was a reporter, wild goose chases were her bread and butter.

Still, standing someone up was just… _Rude_. After stamping her foot once, she looked around, half-expecting to see a car full of _Baltimore Sun_ stooges laughing at her. It would be just like them to pull shit like this, jealous jackasses that they were.

But besides the guy in the shaved ice truck who kept giving Freddie the eye like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to fuck her or eat her (and how awful was it that she knew _exactly_ what that latter looked like?), there was nobody else around. Just her, truck guy, and a street empty as the battery on her cellphone, and wasn't her day just working out _fantastically_?

Stamping her foot again seemed like the best course of action. It made her feel a little better. The muttered _fuck_ she threw in after made her feel even happier as she started racking her brain, thunder rumbling ominously overhead.

_Could_ call a cab, but she'd been forced to tighten her belt recently and she'd already cabbed it out there to begin with; paying again after ending up empty-handed was salt in the wound. It was Sunday, who would be available- no, who would be _willing_ to pick her up…?

_tap tap tap_

Shaved ice guy opened the plexiglas partition and leaned forward onto the stainless steel counter, glaring down at her as she lowered her fist. "Yeah?"

Freddie gave him her sweetest smile, minimal teeth as she checked his embroidered bowling shirt of a uniform. _Harold._ "Hi, Harry, I was just wondering if you had a phone I could use?"

"Customer use only," he said grimly, but he didn't move away, eyes traveling down her face and throat to the low neck of her blouse, revealed by her unbuttoned jacket.

She rocked back onto her heels, hands in her pockets, arm hugging her purse close and making a show of checking the menu. Threw in a deep breath so he'd get a good look at her rack. "Oh, don't worry, I'll _definitely_ buy something. I'll buy two somethings," she said after a beat, smile wider than ever. Shaved ice was cheaper than a taxi, after all.

 

"I'm not giving you any more patient files," Chilton said when he picked up.

"That's no way to say hello," she replied with a pout she hoped he could hear. It wasn't entirely play-acting on her part – he was a _great_ source of information when he wanted to be. And cheap, too. She paid him in peanuts.

Well, sexual favors. Same difference.

"Hello, Miss Lounds," he said, trying again. There was a clanging in the background, like pots banging together, echoed in the dark clouds above her. "I'm not giving you any more patient files. You didn't redact them properly and now the board is looking at _me-_ "

"I wasn't calling about any such thing," she interrupted before he could get going, shifting uncomfortably on the steel step she sat on, halfway in the truck. The sky was only getting darker, but there was no way she was going any further into the truck. Not when Harold seemed to have more bags of a very familiar white powder than shaved ice supplies and his cell was a cheap burner.

"…Are you saying this is a _social_ call?" Under all that sarcasm there was a detectable eagerness in Chilton's voice. Freddie repressed the urge to sigh. Give a man an inch – or a couple of handjobs – and he'd take a mile.

"In a way," she hedged. "I need a favor."

"A word here meaning that you want me to _do_ something for you. Unfortunately, I'm a bit busy at the moment." Running water now – dishes? Cooking? It was the weekend, who cooked on the weekend? Freddie couldn't understand cooking on any day, especially not for yourself alone. And Chilton was _definitely_ alone, she'd bet her laptop. That was time that could be put towards other, more productive ends. Like surveilling people. Or running down a lead.

Or getting stranded.

A fat raindrop plopped down on the toe of her boot.

"Look, I need a lift. I'm stranded, and I'm using my one phone call to call you," she said, going for broke as she glanced back at Harold. He paused in patting a bag flat before he produced a roll of duct tape and noisily pulled off a long strip. "Be a dear and come pick me up in that adorable car of yours?"

More raindrops; Freddie was paying more attention to those than Chilton's whining when he said, "Do you really think I'm inclined to drop everything and come get you? I'm not your _chauffeur_ , Miss Lounds."

_riiiiiiiiiiiip_

Freddie wheeled back around, clutching the borrowed cellphone in her hand, to watch Harold tear the tape with his teeth before taping another bag. "I'll buy you a sno-cone," she said loudly, grinning wide and remembering gorilla hostility markers when Harold stared at her.

There was a long pause on Chilton's end.

"C'mon," she murmured, turning slowly away to watch the rain starting to fall. "I'd owe you?" Maybe the prospect of having her in his debt would sweeten the deal enough to get him to take it. As if her vulnerability hadn't already caught his attention; the man was a vulture same as she was.

"Aren't sno-cones a little... Unseasonable?" he asked instead. "It's not very warm out."

Making excuses but she knew she had him. "That just makes them more enjoyable, don't you think? Something out of the ordinary."

Another clatter; what sounded to her ears like water being poured out. "What flavor?"

"Any flavor you want, Freddy darling."

 

Of course the worst of the rain was over by the time Chilton showed up, wipers going on the Jag as he rolled up to the curb a foot from where Freddie stood waiting. He emerged umbrella first, smoothly opening it before he was fully out of the car. Like a cat, desperate not to get wet.

Freddie adjusted the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and shook her damp hair back as he shut the door. Not as soaked as she could've been – Harold had moved further into the truck at the same rate she had, and she'd kept her hand on the taser concealed in her bag the whole time anyway. But wet enough. Still, she'd ended up far worse for wear before. A little rain never killed anyone.

Chilton stood with his black umbrella tilted back over his shoulder, surveying her and their surroundings with a smug look. "Your knight in shining armor has arrived."

Was he playing the chivalry angle on purpose to annoy her? It was working. Shaking her damp hair back over her shoulder, Freddie rolled her eyes and stepped closer to his right side, forcing him to swap the handle of the oversized umbrella from one hand to the other and hold it over both of them. The plaid interior was a bit much. "And what flavor would kind sir like as his reward?"

His gaze shifted past her to the truck, his head moving minutely as he took in the sight. "I didn't think you were serious."

"I'm always serious," she said, feeling Harold's eyes boring into her back. "Especially when it comes to paying people back."

"Hm." He gestured her forward, all very proper, and they strolled together back towards the truck, rain pattering onto the umbrella over their heads.

 

The rain picked up again while they ate.

" _Not_ in the car," he'd said, and that had been the end of that.

She'd somehow ended up standing on his left, and as she licked up a spoonful of cherry-flavored ice she saw him wince after his own mouthful. Glad again that all _her_ teeth were in perfect working order, Freddie considered his scarred cheek. Not so bad as he thought, really, but of course she didn't say anything. So long as she never said anything he never knew she stared; it wasn't like he could see her.

"You're staring," he said curtly, before helping himself to more lemon ice.

Or maybe he could. Either way, there was no point denying it, and it wasn't like Freddie was going to be ashamed of herself. Instead, she pushed the handle of the umbrella out of the way.

Rain drummed down on them, alarming Chilton. "What-" He froze when Freddie kissed him soundly on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark over the uneven skin.

"Thanks for picking me up," she said, then pushed the handle back so they were once again sheltered.

"Yes, well. Don't make it a habit," he said, lips curling as he fiddled with his spoon. His cheeks were a bit pink when she bumped his shoulder with her own, and if he felt the lipstick smear he didn't do anything about it.


	2. Chillywilly, inclement weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is intolerable." | A walk in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for sackoflemons, who asked for "ChillyWilly, 14 [inclement weather]." This turned out more gen than anything else, but I hope it satisfies!
> 
> Set in some amorphous future.

"This is intolerable."

Will had laughed the first time Chilton had said that, but now it was just getting old. Had the man never been outside before? Sometimes weather happened and it wasn't nice. A metaphor for life.

Trite. Chilton was rubbing off on him again.

"How can you stand it out here?"

To be fair, this wasn't completely unplanned. Will had taken one look at the sky that morning and decided yes, today would be the day he gave Chilton his interview. The man had been harassing him weekly by phone for months, increasing to a daily basis in the last couple of weeks – probably because his publisher was on _his_ back about getting a draft in or some garbage. Judging by how quickly Chilton had appeared on his doorstep, Will almost suspected the man of hiding in the forest somewhere, lying in wait for Will to emerge from the house so he could pounce on him in person.

Honestly, he was as bad as Freddie Lounds.

"All this _rain_ and _mud_ and- My shoes- Will, just- Wait- Do you have to march along so _quickly_?"

Maybe that was unfair. Lounds had never waited for his permission before doing anything – his latest ongoing suit against her for those _Tattler_ pictures proved that – whereas Chilton had at the very least agreed to his terms: bright and early Monday morning, and – rain or shine – they'd walk the dogs while Will answered his questions. Let him think it was some calming self-defense mechanism on Will's part when the truth – as usual – was much simpler: Will loved his dogs, and he wasn't about to let Chilton interfere with their routine.

"Is this some sort of punishment?"

Will's ears perked up at that.

"Or is it _self_ -punishment?"

Nevermind. As usual, the good doctor zigged when he should have zagged. Will took the stick Applesauce offered him and tossed it ahead, smiling as a few of the dogs tore off after it.

"Trudging along through the woods like some primeval caretaker to some… _pets_."

Chilton said the word like he really meant _mongrels_ and, unbidden, Will remembered how politely friendly Hannibal had been with the dogs. He shoved his irritation away at the same time he shoved his hands in his pockets. It _was_ a bit nippy out.

"Multiple times a day every day, not unlike Sisyphus, pushing the rock up the hill in Hell. I suppose this makes me a Dante with no Virgil," Chilton mused. The sound of scribbling as he wrote down that particularly insipid observation, and then the squelch of mud and racket of branches as Chilton hurried to catch up again.

God, he had not missed Chilton's hoity-toity whining. An erroneous _Inferno_ reference? So unnecessary. Yes, Frederick, the rest of us have library cards as well, Will wanted to say to him, but didn't. He'd answered the man's questions – his _real_ questions – already, he was under no obligation to speak to him now. Dragging Chilton further along through the forest, listening to him whine and verbally hurl shit at the wall to see what would stick as the rain began to sprinkle again was just… the icing on the cake, really.

"Or is it because this god-awful weather is actually pathetic fallacy?" Chilton said bitterly at first, and then repeated the last bit slowly, heavy with the sense of a dawning realization. Of course Chilton would think that. Chilton was always looking for the hidden angle when there often wasn't one to be found. More scribbling behind Will, uneven as they trod through the underbrush.

Looking back at Chilton, huffing and puffing and writing away in his little reporter-style notepad – leather-bound, of course – with his little pencil, Will was astounded the man hadn't walked into a tree yet. Chilton did yelp when he put his foot into a muddy puddle though, and glared at Will when the wind picked up strong enough to loudly flutter the paper pages in Chilton's face.

Will actually didn't mind the shitty weather – alternately rainy, gusty, chilly and sometimes all three at once with a healthy dollop of gunmetal clouds – because he was happy to be alive to see it. Because it was changeable and darkly beautiful in a moist, earthy sort of way. Because he could hear the dogs yipping and barking and running ahead, furry, dirty little libertines.

And because it was making Chilton miserable. Because the man made _Will_ miserable. Simple as that.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you arranged this to be as unpleasant as possible," Chilton said abruptly, droll as Will ever remembered him being, and there was a clapping sound as he gave up and closed his notebook. "But of course that would be _crazy_ , thinking you were trying to punish me via weather conditions."

Crazy but correct. Will smirked at Chilton over his shoulder, taking in the red-cheeked, soggy sight of him. "Remember the old saying, Frederick? 'It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.'"

Chilton let out a grumbling exhalation, hunching his shoulders as he pulled his head down deeper into his soaked wool coat. "I _have_ missed your uniquely sunny brand of realism, Mr. Graham," he said, just before he let out a loud sneeze.

A real grin on his face now, Will whistled for the dogs. "We'll have to hurry back if we want to beat the weather."

"It's already beaten me," Chilton grumbled, turning around the way they'd came and tripping over a tree root. He would've ended up flat on his aggravated face if Will hadn't reached out and grabbed the back of his coat to steady him. The man's depth perception really wasn't it used to be; Will was astounded he could still drive.

Another sneeze from Chilton as the wind blew more drops of rain on them. Will looked up at the sky, its swirls of white and greys that made him shiver as the dogs milled around them, nosing at Chilton and herding him neatly around a tree as if they knew he couldn't see it.

Really, complaining aside, Frederick had been a good sport about the whole thing, Will decided. It would only be polite to take him back and make him a hot cup of coffee. And maybe a sandwich. This kind of weather always made him want to curl up with a grilled cheese. It would be rude not to share.


	3. Barollins, wearing each other's clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I look like Grimace's hippie flower power cousin." | Barba needs something to wear. Something that fits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for my darling Jenny, who asked for "barollins, 29 [wearing each other's clothes]." Once again, I know I didn't deliver _precisely_ what the prompt stated, but I tried!
> 
> Also a sort of unofficial sequel to notmyyacht's [fic](http://notmyyacht.tumblr.com/post/119421549848/okay-so-this-is-from-the-drabble-ask-i-started-a). Hope you don't mind!

Nothing Rollins owned fit him. That fact became clearer with every passing minute as she dug through her closet, searching for something for him to wear. It made perfect sense: she was at least half his size. They were engaging in an exercise in futility.

Barba drew his towel tighter around his shoulders and resisted the urge to suggest again that he ask one of her neighbors for something. They'd been through that once already and it had just made her more unreasonably determined.

"It's my fault you got soaked in the first place, I'm going to fix it," she said after commandeering his clothes to hang up over the tub. Now they were drip-drying and he was left in damp, uncomfortable briefs, an undershirt that might as well have not existed given how translucent it was from the rain, and a bath towel. An all-around sad and very desperate attempt at maintaining his dignity.

"Is this some long con to get me naked?" he asked Rollins's back. She was literally half in the closet, shoving clothes around, and he'd meant it mostly rhetorically, but she jerked her head out to give him a look. Well, give his bare legs a look more like; he rubbed his cold feet together self-consciously.

"What gives you that idea?" Her smile said _yes, absolutely_ , but she still disappeared back into the closet, and he was left to wonder again why he hadn't ever bothered to leave anything at her place. Anything that would _fit_.

Oh, right. Because that was something couples did. And they weren't a couple. They were colleagues. Colleagues who occasionally fucked sometimes. Very occasionally. A handful of times a month counted as occasional, didn't it?

"Ah ha!" Rollins said, and the clothes stopped jostling around for a moment. Then, quieter: "Oh no."

Barba decided to focus on the positive for a change. "What 'ah ha'?"

She had not emerged from the closet. In past the folding door, all that was visible of her now were her bare calves and her feet in fuzzy slippers. Already in pajama shorts and t-shirt because it was storming, there was a flood warning, and that apparently made it "pajamas at 2PM" weather.

He repeated himself when she didn't answer.

"Um… well, I found something for you to wear," she said, leaning back to look at him. She was smiling again, but it wasn't sly like before. It was nervous. Maybe apologetic. "I mean, I _think_ it'll fit. I'm pretty sure it'll fit. It was always enormous on me, so… but…"

Whatever it was had to be hideous. That's why she hadn't pulled it out of the closet – she was hiding it. Even Frannie, sitting beside him, knew it; she'd stopped wagging her tail, and had turned very doleful eyes on him.

Barba sighed, huddled into himself a bit more under the towel, hands in his armpits. "I don't care how ugly it is," he said, making an executive decision. He was wet all over, and possibly literally freezing his balls off. "I'll wear it."

"Please remember that I did my best," she said, before stepping out of the closet completely, hands full of… something. Something purple. Mostly purple. When she shook it out to hold it up, it became rapidly obvious that there were a lot of other colors involved besides purple.

Barba stared at it, then slowly looked away. It made his eyes hurt.

She blushed. "My sister bought it for me. As a gift?"

He looked back at the bathrobe, lip curling. "Disown her."

 

A knock on the door. "It fit?"

Barba adjusted the belt. "It fits." At least it was dry. He had to think of it that way: it was dry. It was dry – unlike the underwear he'd peeled off – and it fit. No matter what the cops said, he was generally more of a realist than anything else, but circumstances being what they were… it could be worse.

"Great! That's great. Right?"

 _It could be worse_. Keep thinking that way. Focus on the silver lining.

He made the mistake of looking at himself in the small mirror over the sink and cringed.

"Are you coming out?" Rollins didn't sound so sure, and tried to sweeten the deal with: "I made coffee!"

"I'm staying here," he said, plucking at the sleeves and stalling. "I've had your coffee." It _mostly_ fit; it was a bit short in places. Like the sleeves, and it fell above the knee. But other than that it fit perfectly.

"It can't be that bad." The door creaked; she was probably leaning on it.

He flicked one of the large flowers that jutted out from the robe. "Trust me, it is." Were they talking about her coffee or this… monstrosity?

"Well, come out when you're ready," she said, the door creaking again. "It can't be that bad if _you're_ wearing it."

Smiling despite himself, he shook his head as he heard her retreating footsteps. Blatantly manipulative, but there was nothing to be done and the coffee actually smelled appetizing for a change. If he hurried he might be able to get a cup that wasn't burnt.

After giving his wet clothes one last betrayed look, Barba turned and opened the door, plodding his way through the apartment to the kitchen where he found Rollins pouring coffee into perfectly respectable white mugs as Frannie supervised.

Pot still in hand, Rollins stepped back from the counter and blinked. Blinked again before a silly grin started to unfurl across her face, and she wisely hid it by turning away to put the pot back on the warmer and fix their coffees. "Wow," she said, not looking at him as she picked up the mugs and carried them into the living room. "That's- That's a lovely color on you."

Barba followed after her, arms raised as high as he could – not very since it pulled tight through the shoulders and at the armpits. "I look like Grimace's hippie flower power cousin."

She snorted loudly, setting the mugs on the table in time to cover her mouth with her hand to stop her laughter. "It's not that bad," she insisted, sounding strangled as she sat on the couch.

Frannie flopped down next to the table and let out a wavering groan, chin to the carpeted floor.

"Even the _dog_ thinks it's ugly, and she's colorblind," Barba said as he sat down next to Rollins, incapable of helping the whine of annoyance in his voice. He didn't mean to be ungrateful, he knew she felt guilty for his getting drenched, but he had _standards_. He _cared_ about his appearance, he couldn't help it, and this- This- God, it was fucking awful.

Rollins made no attempt at hiding her grin this time as she shifted closer to adjust the collar, knuckles brushing his bare chest. "It's really not that bad," she repeated, eyes raking slowly down his body. "I think it's cute."

"'Cute,'" he said flatly, quirking an eyebrow as she touched one of the ragged cotton flowers that decorated the robe. They were _tie-dyed_. He was wearing something tie-dyed. He was forty-five years old and wearing-

"Mmhmm," she said, rubbing her hand heavily over his terrycloth-covered thigh, disrupting his self-righteous train of thought. Rollins frowned, rubbing the material between her fingers and settling in closer. "It looks better on you than me. So annoying. And it's soft, right?"

Barba grunted in agreement, mollified against his will. It _was_ soft, and warm after those dreadful wet clothes. He wasn't cold at all anymore, although whether that was down to the bathrobe or Rollins leaning on his shoulder, nearly in his lap, was up for discussion. Stretching an arm out over the back of the couch was practically impossible, what with how the robe pinched and started to ride up. Easier just to wrap his arm around her shoulders; he didn't want to pop a seam. "You said Kim gave it to you?"

"Yeah," she said, hand moving to one of the loose ends of the belt, bare knees pressing against his thigh as she curled up next to him. She tapped the end against his stomach. "Some weak attempt at sucking up to me. I think she put it on my card, too."

He didn't have an answer for that, but it seemed she didn't expect one when she tugged at the belt, drawing the knot loose. Frannie, sensing what was coming, discretely wandered off to her dog bed.

"Sorry about your suit," Rollins said, leaving the undone belt to very deliberately push the robe open over his chest. "If I hadn't forgotten that damn file-"

"Forget about it," he said, covering her hand with his own when her fingers brushed his ticklish side. "It's not a big deal."

"Mm." She slipped her hand out from under his to slide it further down under the robe. "It's not _so_ bad, is it?"

"It's growing on me," he groaned, dropping his head back to rest against the couch, coffee long forgotten.


	4. Barisi, neck/throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is your fault," he said. | Sonny notices something different about Barba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for booyah-carisi, who asked for "Barisi 20 [neck/throat]." Like Sonny, I got a little carried away.

Right- Right there. _There_.

Sonny's eyes darted from the red mark to Barba's face and back again. Over and over like a yo-yo, until he made himself dizzy and stopped. Stopped too because he was sure somebody was going to notice, and he returned to pretending to scrutinize the case file in front of him until he realized that no, nobody fuckin' noticed what he was doing. Situational normal. So he went back to staring.

Right on the… Well, right side of Barba's neck, poking up from under his shirt collar. A mark. A bruise. A _hickey_. Sonny had given and received enough of those to recognize one at 20 paces, he'd grown up with three sisters who weren't shy about dating and making their parents crazy. _That_ , dark on the firm line of Barba's neck, was a hickey.

It only got redder when the man tucked his middle finger in between his collar and his skin and… Scratched it. Slowly. Sonny's mouth dried out; he could _see_ the tan skin getting redder as Barba's finger rubbed it, until enough was enough and he pulled his finger out, patted his shirt back in place.

"Did you have anything to add, Detective?" Barba – _everyone_ – was looking at him, and Sonny had to squash the urge to hunch his shoulders and pull his head in like a turtle. Had he made some sort of noise? He was fairly certain he had not. He was an adult, he was in control of himself.

Unless… Could they read his mind? He worried about this an inordinate amount, but the way Barba was looking at him now - differently from everyone else, with something like a twinkle in his eyes - made him wonder. If _anyone_ was going to be a secret telepath it would be Barba. He'd probably have all these personal rules about not using his abilities in court, deliberately not reading the minds of his friends or colleagues, but of course he'd say something about how Sonny thought _so loud_ that how could he help but hear him?

And admittedly Sonny was thinking pretty loudly right now. And… Explicitly. Primarily about how Barba got that hickey. And how he could give him another by pulling his tie loose, popping the top button of his shirt, and- He'd asked him a question. How long ago?

"Um, yes," Sonny chanced, glancing down at the file, tracing a couple of lines and hoping his brain would jumpstart and provide him with something good. Something professional sounding. Something impressive to show he was on the ball. "What about the time stamps on the pictures? Grant says they were taken later by the vic, days after the fight, but the files' metadata says they were created months prior?" Everyone was staring. Was that not related to what they'd been discussing? He needed to stop fantasizing at work, he was never going to get a promotion if he kept it up. "Isn't that a pretty serious discrepancy?"

As one, Barba and Benson looked away to begin discussing it, reasoning out the implications of the new timeline, and Sonny sat back in relief. Across the table from him, Rollins gave him an impressed look, a small smile he returned like he hadn't just pulled that whole thing out of thin air.

But Sonny didn't rest on his laurels. Determined to do better, he paid careful attention to Barba's hypotheticals, his probing questions, trying to relate it all back to what he'd learned in night school and tease out his legal reasoning, what could theoretically be justified with the evidence and Benson's increasingly harried responses. His attention most certainly did not drift back to that red mark on the side of Barba's neck, how it moved when Barba took a long swallow of water.

"Alright, enough already," Benson said abruptly, and Sonny snapped back to reality, positive she was chastizing him. But she wasn't; she was giving Barba a very mildly annoyed smile, waving her hand at him as she got up. "You made your point, and I'm too hungry for this. Lunch?"

Barba grinned back. "Sore loser. Fine."

The other cops all got to their feet, Fin stretching, Rollins cracking her neck, as Benson walked to the door. Sonny, surprisingly, wasn't the last to follow; Barba lingered behind, poking at his phone as he circled behind his desk.

"You coming?" Benson called to him. Sonny felt like a duckling, next to her with the other two cops, but that feeling faded when Barba shook his head absently.

"Not yet," he said. "I'll be along in a bit." And then he looked up from his phone to lock eyes with Sonny. "Can I have a word, Detective?"

In his periphery, Rollins and Fin traded a look. _Called to the principal's office_. Sonny stayed where he was as the others left, the door closing after them with an ominous thunk.

Barba beckoned him forward, raising an eyebrow when Sonny approached at a stroll.

"The picture thing was pretty good, right?" Sonny wanted to get ahead of whatever this was as soon as possible, remind Barba he wasn't dumb as a bag of hair. Sonny was smart! He knew things! He did not sit around gaping and gawking like a teenager with a crush.

Not all the time, anyway.

"Surprisingly yes," Barba said, not commenting on Sonny's growing smile as he added on, "Very observant and… Potentially useful."

That was as close to _good job_ as Barba was likely to get, so Sonny didn't push his luck. Or pump his fist in victory, which he really wanted to do and probably _would_ do the moment he left his office.

"But I didn't ask you to stay to stroke your ego," Barba said, causing Sonny's smile to freeze in place as he left his phone where it was and circled around his desk to lean back against it. Tapping his fingers against the edge, he gave Sonny a suspicious look. "What's with the staring?"

It took effort, but Sonny did _not_ let his eyes drop from Barba's face to his neck. Not that he could've seen the hickey from this perspective, but still. It was _there_. "What staring?"

Now Barba did roll his eyes, though barely. More like an amused slow blink than anything else. "That. What you just had to stop yourself from doing. You're being more obvious than usual." He held out his hand. "Gimme your phone."

"What?" Sonny's eyebrows rose. Barba had no idea? Oh shit.

Barba snapped his fingers impatiently. "Give me your phone, Carisi."

He fumbled it out of his pocket and unlocked it, handed it over, fear and amusement growing in equal confusing measure. Did he want to see Barba freak out or did he want to see him smug? Impossible to decide as Barba tapped away, finally held the phone out to the side and scanned his neck, the camera app clearly set to selfie mode.

Started on the left side of course, probably to deliberately screw with Sonny because there was no way Barba could have gotten up that morning, shaved, dressed, and not looked in a mirror the whole time, not noticed. Slowly over to the right, and Sonny swallowed when Barba paused. Tilted his head.

Yeah. Right there.

"Are you kidding me?" Barba gave him a desert-dry look. Was it amused? Annoyed? Sonny couldn't tell, too taken with how Barba looked back at his phone screen, angled it, and tugged his shirt collar down a bit. Checking out his hickey, and Sonny rolled his shoulders back compulsively. This was… Hot. It shouldn't have been, but somehow it was, and it only got hotter when Barba loosened his tie with one hand and undid the top two buttons of his shirt to further pull his collar aside.

Sonny shifted his weight, used it as an excuse to shuffle a bit to the side to get a better look. It wasn't a small mark; it was a lot bigger than he'd realized. And darker. A full, rich bruise that Barba poked at, and Sonny was licking his lips when Barba paused and gave him a dark look.

"This is your fault," he said. Not accusingly, but… He did not look pleased. Eyes narrowed, he stroked a single finger down the line of his neck, over the mark. Scratched it slightly as he peered at the image on the iPhone screen. "God, I'm fucking a teenager," he muttered, lips curling up at the corners, and that twinkle from before was back.

"Hey!" Sonny could put up with a lot, but even he had his limits. He stepped forward, easily plucking his phone from Barba's grip before pocketing it, his other hand hooking around the man's suspender strap, down low by his waist. "It's not my fault you're so-"

"Don't say edible, that's creepy," Barba said, shimmying back to sit more on his desk, legs parted. "I can't believe you. I can't believe nobody said anything."

"Maybe they're jealous," Sonny said, letting his suspender strap go to stand between his legs and undo more of his dress shirt's buttons, enough to reveal his white undershirt. "Or impressed."

"There's nothing impressive about- Mm." Barba sighed, his hand settling on Sonny's shoulder, sliding around to the back of his neck, up to his hair, pushing Sonny's face against his neck as he licked at his bruise. "This is totally unprofessional."

"Are you ever gonna get tired of saying that?" Sonny gently bit at the corner of his jaw, just so he'd feel his teeth, and Barba laughed breathily, pulled his hair slightly. "I'm starting to think you've got some kinda kink about it, Counselor."

"I'm not going to respond to that," Barba replied as Sonny moved, kissed the unmarked skin on the left side of his neck. He smelled great. _Edible_. "And if anyone has a kink it's you."

"Guilty," Sonny said, before he leaned over him, sucked briefly at the taut line of Barba's neck and made him sigh.

"Christ." Barba gave his hair another soft jerk. Good thing Sonny'd started carrying a comb around with him like he was some kind of Grease-reject; Barba was always messing with his 'do. "If you're going to do that, at least do it somewhere less visible."

Sonny grinned, pulled Barba's shirt out of the front of his pants so he could push it back a bit more at the neck, snag his fingers in the collar of his undershirt and drag it to the side. "Whatever you say, Counselor," he said, before he gave him another hickey to match the first.


	5. Barisi, dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barba wanted him to be his plus-one, and Sonny was not going to fuck it up. | Sonny (inadvertently) fucks it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for blithesea, who asked for "Barba dancing and/or being cooked for." I went with dancing, and I apologize in advance. Please forgive me. To think I thought earlier I got carried away. HA.

When Barba had invited him to be his plus-one to the summer ABA dinner – a thing Sonny hadn't even known existed – he'd been thrilled. More than thrilled. _Psyched_.

"Whatever you're picturing, lower your expectations for fun by about a thousand percent," Barba had said after giving Sonny the details and seeing his reaction. "This isn't Spring Fling. Think speeches. And an offensive amount of networking. And no open bar."

Sonny had leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lip. "Then why are you asking me? Aren't you afraid I'll get bored and, I dunno, get up to no good?"

"To be honest… that's what I'm hoping for." Barba had given him a look. _The_ look. The one that had started this whole thing between them a few months back.

Boring-ass dinner with a bunch of stuffed shirt attorneys? No problem. Sonny could make his own fun anywhere he went, and besides – this was a _date_. An actual date to an official function that Barba had personally and deliberately invited him to. After months of casual hook-ups, dates that were of the more incidental "I'm starving, you're starving, let's both get food together at the same time in the same place" variety, this was a big deal. A milestone.

Barba wanted him to be his plus-one, and Sonny was _not_ going to fuck it up.

So his outfit had been perfect – not too flashy, not too dull, and Barba had given him elevator eyes, pretended to straighten his tie for him and said, "Looking good, Detective." His chatter had been snappy, keeping Barba awake through the _incredibly boring_ speeches with little asides and observations that had him snorting, biting his lip to keep from laughing outright as Sonny whispered into his ear. Dinner had been swell, Barba more interested in talking to him than glad-handing, and everytime someone said, "Rafael, who's your friend?" Sonny had gotten a rush at hearing him say, "Oh, this is my date, Detective Dominick Carisi."

 _His_ _date_.

"Sonny," he said every time, Barba's hand sliding off his knee when he stood to shake another hand. "Call me Sonny."

Like a fairy tale, something he'd read to a niece – or a _daughter_ – and every fairy tale had a big dance number, the couple hitting the crowded floor and showing people how it was done. But in this case the floor had been practically empty except for people walking across it to get from one side of the hall to the other, and it was such a waste. There was even music! Sonny had never been to a function set somewhere like this where _nobody_ danced, and he'd set his after-dinner drink down and licked his lips, turned to Barba.

"How 'bout it?" He tipped his head to the dancefloor, smoothing his tie as he got up.

Barba narrowed his eyes. "How about what?"

"You know." Sonny started swaying a little to the music as he backed up. "What, don't you know how?"

"I know how." Barba set his napkin on the table before him, but he didn't get up. Content to watch and see, as usual. Sonny knew by now how much Barba liked to watch, but this time he couldn't let that fly. Not for long, anyway.

The swaying increased, and he threw in a little shoulder action, trying to lure him out. Other people were turning to look, murmuring to each other, and Sonny grinned. "You lawyers, always needing someone else to set precedent. Fine."

So Sonny set precedent.

 

That was a week ago. A week since the dinner, since he'd shared a cab with Barba afterwards. He'd palmed his thigh, leaned in close and, when they reached Sonny's apartment, asked him, "Wanna come up for a drink?"

Barba had closed his eyes and winced. "No, I- I have to be up early tomorrow. Really early. Big case."

Totally understandable, nothing new, and Sonny was a bit disappointed but whatever. He could always jerk off. "Alright. Talk to you later?"

"Mm."

A week. A week and now Barba was… Well, Sonny recognized a quick fade, even if he'd never been on the receiving end of one before. And that's what Barba was doing. Impersonal or slow responses to texts, no lingering to talk – flirt – during court recesses or after case updates at the station. And everytime Barba _looked_ at him, there was this- This _wince_. A split-second grimace, and he'd turn away, sometimes shake his head, and it was _killing_ Sonny. What the fuck? What had he done _now_?

So long as Barba kept giving him the cold professional shoulder, Sonny would have to ask someone else if they'd heard or noticed anything strange, and there was no way that was happening. Who would he ask? Besides how embarrassing that would be, going to a third party for relationship advice like some silly schoolgirl, it wasn't like they were _official_ or anything. They weren't going steady.

Not anymore, it seemed.

It didn't help in the least how some of the other lawyers, people Sonny'd seen at the dinner, were taking him even less seriously than before. He wasn't stupid, he knew when people were mocking him – he just ignored it, or barreled on regardless. "Kill 'em with kindness, Sonny," his mother had always said, and he tried. Oh, he tried.

"The hell?" Rollins muttered, squinting at something behind him, and he'd turned to see a couple of attorneys a few feet away, talking animatedly about something as they also waited for the elevator.

And then they gave them a look. Gave _Sonny_ a look, both lawyers at the same time. Identical mocking sneers, and that was it. He'd had enough, and when Rollins went back to the station, leaving Sonny alone with Barba in his office, finishing up the latest bit of trial prep, he cracked.

"Did I _do_ something? Did I offend you somehow?"

Barba didn't look up from the note he was scrawling across the pad. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me, Counselor, we both know you're not," Sonny said, resting his elbows on the conference table, drinking in the sight of Barba while he had the opportunity. Customary loose tie, sleeves rolled up – he looked good of course, but the pink ears, the avoidance? That was new. That was not so good. "Just tell me. Please?"

His pen stilled. "Carisi…"

Back to last names? So much for their forward progress. "I thought things were going good. Wasn't the date- Didn't you have a fun time?"

Barba sighed, set his pen down, and leveled his gaze on him. "It was fine. It was great, actually. I've been to a lot of those and they've never been so enjoyable."

"Then what's the problem? Why the freeze-out?" Sonny was at a loss, frantically trying to remember the night. They'd both had a reasonable – if limited – amount to drink, he hadn't said anything to get himself in trouble, had used the right fork at the right time, hadn't upset any judges or any of Barba's colleagues. Everything had been great, and Barba had been looking at him with stars in his eyes all night.

Almost all night.

All night up until the end. When he'd-

"I…" Barba fiddled with his pen a moment before putting it back down and clasping his hands. "Look, it pains me to say this, but-"

"You think I can't dance," Sonny finished for him, the realization heavy and unbelievable.

"I don't think, I know," Barba snapped back, expression softening immediately. "Sorry. But you are an _awful_ dancer. Awful."

"And that's why you're dropping me like third period french?" At a loss, Sonny folded the edge of the file page. Back and forth. "I can't be that bad."

"Sonny…"

Sonny looked up from the file to see Barba's sympathetic _I know you're suffering and there's nothing I can do about it but acknowledge your pain_ face that he only ever used on victims.

["You dance like Elaine."](https://youtu.be/5xi4O1yi6b0?t=14s)

 

"I want to ask you somethin' but you have to promise me you'll be honest, okay?"

"Uh oh," Bella laughed. "Sounds serious."

"It _is_ serious," Sonny said, wishing he had a landline so he could twist the phone cord around his finger nervously. Like a schoolgirl. "You gonna promise or what? Brutal honesty, sis."

"Yeah, alright, brutal honesty," she said, voice growing distant before there was a scratchy noise and she suddenly sounded a lot nearer when she said, "What's up?"

"Do you think…" He swallowed. "Am I a bad dancer?"

Silence.

"Bell?"

"…You're not… _that_ bad…" He could hear her cringing as she spoke.

"I said brutal honesty," he said, feeling hollow.

"I… Ugh." He could easily picture her massaging her temple with her fingers. "Okay, you remember that time Uncle Gio danced at Theresa's first wedding?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "He got drunk and tried to rumba or something to 'Every Breath You Take.'"

"Right. Picture that… but worse. Picture Uncle Gio doing that _and_ having a seizure at the same time. _And_ having longer legs."

Sonny pressed his phone to his forehead, taking a deep breath before he asked, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't anyone ever tell me if I'm _that_ bad?"

Bella groaned. "I dunno. You always looked like you were having so much fun. And… you're my brother. I love you. It's like a fun little quirk, it doesn't matter! It's just how you are, and if anyone can't appreciate that then they're not worth keeping around."

That was all fine and good, all very reasonable, but- "That's something you tell ugly chicks," he whined. "'Oh, don't worry, you have other things going for you! Like personality! The right person will love you for who you _really_ are!'"

"Sonny! That's not fair," Bella said, sympathy gone. "For you, I mean. Ugly chicks have an advantage; they don't have _your_ personality."

"Ha," he said, but he was mollified by Bella's customary teasing, ready to refocus on fixing the problem at hand. Forward, always forward. That was the Carisi way. "So what, are you're saying it's not fixable? I'm a terminal bad dancer?"

"There's probably a video or two or three million on YouTube, right?" Bella said easily. Too easily. She thought he was DOA. "All those basement-dwelling pick-up artists need to learn their moves _somewhere_ , huh?"

"Right," he said. "Right." Sonny'd busted his ass to win Barba's respect, gotten that and a helluva lot more, and he wasn't about to lose it all over something so stupid. This was fixable. It had to be.

 

Less than a week later, Sonny was ready to say "problem solved."

A knock on the doorframe – always knock, never barge in unless it was an emergency – and Barba looked up from his laptop to wave him in. Of course he was still working even though it was way after punch-out time. Sonny might've been imagining things, but he thought for a second Barba brightened up a little at his sudden appearance, though after closing the door and drawing nearer he saw that Barba had returned to a smooth professional blankness.

"What can I do for you, Detective?"

Sonny had his phone all ready, track queued up in iTunes, and he set it down within reach on the edge of the desk. "Look, I get it. I'm a bad dancer." He gestured to himself. "I'm lucky I can walk. You think it was easy getting through high school lookin' like a stork? "

Barba's eyes traveled slowly down Sonny's body, taking in his lanky proportions, his long legs. "You don't look like one now," he said, eyes moving back up.

Fighting off a grin because hell no he did _not_ , thank you for acknowledging it, Sonny set his hands on his hips, determined to stick with his plan. "So yeah, I'm a bad dancer." He pointed at Barba. "But you're a shallow fuck!"

Barba promptly stopped staring at his crotch to look startled, like his nonna's cat when it got sprayed with a water bottle and couldn't figure out what had happened. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me!" Being self-righteous was hard when he wanted so badly to laugh. The cat comparison was too valid. "You _dumped_ me 'cause I can't dance."

"I…" The gears were visibly turning in Barba's head. Not over the meaning of fresh evidence, or some legal minutiae, but something Sonny had said. It was incredibly rewarding, same as the dismayed look that settled on Barba's face when he quietly asked, "I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." At least he wasn't going to dispute it, but then Barba was always – almost always – honest. Or at least willing to concede a point to Sonny when he'd made one. That was good though, because that meant they could move forward. "Lucky for you you're hot and I'm forgiving, because I wouldn't bother going through all this for anyone else."

Brow furrowed, Barba regarded him with some confusion as he tapped at his phone, low music drifting out. "Thank you? Go through what?"

"This." Struggling not to feel self-conscious – the videos all said you had to stay loose, dance like nobody's watching, all that bullshit – Sonny turned the volume up and started to… well, dance. Better than he ever had before in his life.

Or maybe not, judging by Barba's continued bafflement. But he also hadn't covered his eyes like they were hurting, or pulled out the liquor bottle he kept in the bottom drawer of the desk. That was good, wasn't it?

But after another minute of wordless staring, Sonny couldn't take it anymore and stopped, dropped his arms in defeat and paused the song. "I tried!" So much for his plan. Days of YouTube and practice wasted.

A hundred expressions were flitting across Barba's face as he absently tapped a rhythm on the desk with his index fingers. "So I see," he said, before snorting and looking down, shoulders shaking.

Face burning, Sonny snatched his phone up to shove it in his pocket, waving a hand at him. "You know what? If you don't-"

An uncountable number of _no_ s poured out of Barba all at once, slurred together with laughter at first as he bolted upright and rounded the desk. "Sonny, wait," Barba said, catching his elbow, laughter replaced with sincerity as he continued, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for laughing at you, and I'm sorry for being a… shallow fuck."

Dumbstruck and making an effort not to show it, Sonny pursed his lips. "Wow, look at you apologizing. I better remember to write this down. 'Dear Diary, today ADA Barba said _sorry._ To _me_!'"

Barba rolled his eyes and let him go. "Yes, yes, I deserve that. I'm sorry. There's one for the road, but don't leave yet. Just- May I?" Not waiting for Sonny's response, he took him by the shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other in the empty space of the office, between the conference table and the chairs before the desk. "Okay, just… you do this thing with your arms. Don't move your arms. Do the thing you were doing before with your legs, but without the kicks. The kicks are weird and unnecessary."

Sonny frowned, but he didn't step away, liking the feel of Barba's hands slipping down his arms from his shoulders as he fought to recall what he'd done with his legs. "Like this?"

"Yes, just- Okay, no. Stop." Barba let him go and stepped back, grimacing. "Try-" and he demonstrated something that Sonny was pretty sure was a two-step, but it looked smoother than anything Sonny had ever managed. Seeing his incomprehension, Barba tried again, slower. "See?"

Sonny, hands coming up to waist-level unbidden, replicated what he did to the best of his ability, but even he knew now when he was outmatched. "This is hopeless," he said, shoulders sagging.

"This doesn't make any _sense_ ," Barba barked, surprising him. Smoothing a hand back over his hair, he gestured angrily at Sonny's entire being. "You- You _have_ rhythm. I know you do. No one can fuck as well as you do without having rhythm."

Sonny's eyes widened, but before he could respond Barba stepped in close to cover his grinning mouth with his hand.

"Shut up, I'm thinking." He dropped his hand, and continued to look down at the floor. Or maybe at Sonny's feet, which somehow weren't any bigger than Barba's despite their height difference. So it wasn't an issue of clown shoes. It was something _in_ Sonny that made him a terrible dancer.

"Maybe you should just-"

Barba covered his mouth again before he could say _give up_. "I said be quiet." He let him go to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sonny. "Okay, pay attention."

 

Twenty minutes later and Sonny felt… good. Better. More confident. "This is good, right?" Of course he stepped off with the wrong foot again, but since he had the basic motion down he didn't feel so bad about Barba correcting him.

"You've improved," Barba said, sounding not the least bit grudging about the admittance. "You just have to go slow. And never dance to anything faster than a waltz ever again."

"I can do that," Sonny said, and grabbed Barba's wrist to pull him back in from where he leaned against the conference table, observing Sonny. "I like slow-dancing." He shifted his grip from wrist to palm, laid his other hand on Barba's waist, and started swaying.

Barba snorted and gave his head a single shake but went along with it, his big hands tugging Sonny into the simple box-step he'd taught him. "Try not to count out loud," he said after a moment.

"Right." Sonny bit his lip, tore his eyes from their feet, and found Barba smiling fondly up at him. "So on a scale of one to ten, how shitty do you feel?"

"About a nine," he replied immediately, fingers drumming once against Sonny's hand. "You'll be getting some non-work-related mileage out of this for a while, don't worry."

Sonny slid his hand slowly over Barba's vest-covered waist to his lower back, pulling him in closer. "Awesome. You should've remembered I was teachable."

"Mm." That smile didn't disappear even after Sonny briefly stepped on his foot by accident. "You _are_ a work in progress, Detective."

"So I've been told." This dancing thing wasn't so hard, he thought as Barba started to hum something familiar-sounding. He could've totally- No, he couldn't have. This was a joint effort.

When was Bella getting married again? He'd have to remember to ask Barba to the wedding so he could show off. He didn't trust himself to be able to do this with anyone else. Nothing faster than a funeral dirge for him, but it would be worth it to see the collective shock and cause the world's largest group heart attack.

But what if he was so amazing that someone else _did_ want to dance with him? Like his sister, or his aunt? He'd have to lead then.

 _Then?_ What about now?

"Am I leading right now or are you?" Sonny asked.

Barba laughed, leaned forward and kissed him soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Barba is humming "Dream A Little Dream of Me."


End file.
